I'll Be Home For Christmas
by HuntedRanger
Summary: Christmas was a time where he could find a home anywhere, where even in the midst of war, pain and loss. Part One: The Howling Commandos help Steve Rogers find the perfect gift for Peggy Carter. Part Two: A shocked Steve tries to find some meaning in the 20th century Christmas. Part 3: Tony invites the entire Avengers team to Stark Tower for...festivities. no slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This fic will have several parts, stretching mostly over Steve Roger's life, so i will be putting it into the Captain America section, although the latter part will be mostly Avenger's related.**

 **this is a much lighter fic than the last one, or the doozy i'm working on now. expect fluffles and cuteness and friendship, BUCKY!, Slight Steve/Peggy cuteness, and lots of Christmas Cheer!**

 **if anything seems wacky, blame the muse. she's on a sugar high right now.**

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Chapter 1: 

_December 1st, 1944_

The freezing camp of the Allies was as abnormally quiet and still. The Howling Commandos' were huddled around a warm campfire, tugging their collars up to their ears and attempting to eat their thin stew before it cooled and congealed into something completely unappetizing. Peggy was there, going over the morrow's plans with Steve and Bucky as they tried to catch any holes in tomorrow's mission plans. Aside from their calm voices and the slurp of emptying bowls amongst the others, nothing was in any way out of the ordinary- until the air was split by a sudden shout that made every man leap for his nearest weapon, which for Dugan happened to be Gabe's bowl of thin soup.

"Look lively, boys!" a sudden voice rose up outside the circle of fire light.

"No, don't worry. Its only Stark." Peggy assured them, looking over her shoulder brow.

"' _Only_ Stark'? Pegs, where is the fanfare? Evening, Gentlemen. Hopefully you'll give me a warmer welcome than Ice Queen over here." Stark complained, stumbling into view, wrapped up in a coat that was half fur and hauling what looked like an overstuffed duffel on his back. Dugan and Morita each shifted over one space, giving him a spot at the brazier. Stark carefully set down the duffel and grinned, clapping his hands together and huffing into them.

"Hmm. Way too cold. Remind me to build whole army thermoshelters. Small enough to carry in a back-pack, easy to take down in a hurry, capable of keeping out everything and anything Mother Nature throws at you."

"Good idea. Maybe you should get to work on that. Make yourself useful for once." Bucky joked. A guffaw circled its way around the fire, Stark as loud as anyone else.

"Barnes, remind me to make you my personal secretary after the war. You're amusing."

"What brings you out here, Stark?" Steve asked, shrugging his coat off and quietly passing it to Peggy, who was shivering. She shook her head quietly, but Dugan took the coat and flung it across her shoulders with a no-nonsense pat. She accepted it then, biting her lip with good-natured annoyance.

"The brass up top want updates on their weapon drops, I had some more volatile things to deliver myself, Phillips wants to grump in my ear like an ol' mama bear, and it's Christmas!"

With that final pronouncement, he reached back and hauled forth the duffel bag, grinning in prideful state.

"Oh, you didn't.' Gabe said wildly in sudden disbelief.

"Oh yes, I did." Howard drawled, his hands deep in his pockets, looking for all the world as though he was going to burst with self-conscious delight. "Go on, Dugan, do the honors for us will you?"

"Howard, Christmas isn't for two weeks." Peggy objected, as Dugan moved forward and started digging into the heavy canvas bag.

Stark shrugged good-naturedly. "They move you guys around so much that I have no clue where you all actually will be in two weeks, so I figured, better now than later!"

Dugan started hauling out lumpy packages wrapped in brown paper and squinted at them. "Good golly, Stark, is this what you call handwriting?"

"Hey, I'm an inventor, not a calligrapher." Stark huffed. "Don't drop that! It's fragile. For my pal Jacques over there."

"Ce que le diable avez-vous moi que Dugan de piétinement sur?" Dernier asked, his voice pitched high.

"He said-"Gabe began, before Stark cut him off with a wave of the hand. "I know, I know. I can speak French."

It turned out to be a package of eclairs. Denier's sudden whoop of delight, followed by a strange type of country dance in the snow (which Morita was dragged into as a shocked and indignant partner) indicated his hitherto-unknown fondness for the dish. After that the packages flowed swift and sure. Gabe ended up with a new quilt, which he promptly shrugged around himself. Falsworth found himself holding gambling tickets, with money bet on all the most likely winners at the next Derbyshire races. Dugan received two large bottles of fine U.S. Bourbon, which excited him so much that he abandoned his post at the duffel to join Dernier in prancing about the snow, whooping that all the Krauts west of Berlin could come take their turns boxing him know, he'd take them on any terms. Stark took over duffel duty and handed the frazzled Morita two first-class K-BARS, knives which he had long wanted with a quiet persistence. Morita's thanks were quiet but heartfelt.

Steve watched as the wrapping fell from the sniper's scope in Bucky's hands, and Bucky's subsequent gasp of wonder. Stark folded his arms and smirked.

"That's personally designed to fit your sniper rifle and match your line of sight. It is state of the art, about 30% ahead of the leading scopes of our time."

"No kidding." Bucky said, awed, lifting it to peer through at various far-off targets which no one else could see. "Heck, I could shoot the badge off Schmidt's cap with this!"

"Well, if you get the chance you better shoot lower than that, else I'll consider my work misused." Stark said as he dug around in the bottom of the duffel. "Here, sweetheart.' He finished, passing a package to Peggy, who was so caught up in enjoying the others delight that she almost dropped it.

"Stark, what on earth did you get me?" she demanded, holding it out carefully.

"Something I figured would suit a lady at war." Stark said, taking the precaution of stepping to the other side of the entranced Bucky.

Peggy's eyebrows crept to her hairline in a distinctly English expression of wary surprise. "Allow me to assure you that if there is anything in here of the slightest embarrassment to me I will personally use your plane engines for target practice."

"That's why I'm standing over here. Now, go ahead and open it."

Steve fiddled with an edge of the paper on his own package as Peggy, eyebrows still crooked with caution, removed the paper and uncovered a sturdy plain metal container with a strong clasp, which she opened with as much care as though it were the casing to an unexploded bomb. She blinked, then her eyes softened. "I take it all back."

"What is it, Peggy?" Steve asked.

Peggy set the box down and lifted out a comb and a brush, each carved of dark walnut wood, smooth and sturdy, but just the slightest amount of ornamental carving to be beautiful.

"Embarrassed?" Stark called out from the safety of Bucky's back.

"Not really. Quite touched actually."

"That's good, cause know I can show you what's going to make you love me." he said, coming out of his improvised cover. "Here, let me see the comb. See this notch on the handle here? Well, squeeze that, aaaand-"he did so, and the toothed section came off, revealing four inches of slim, double edged blade. "Voila! Hygiene and protection. Could sneak it past any security you please. The brush is the same way. Screw off the pad with the bristles, and you get a solid bar, four inches of heavy iron, with a built in grip. You could knock out teeth with that. The best part, you can actually use the brush and comb for your hair if you need to."

Peggy's face underwent a transformation from polite gratitude to wonder and total delight. "It's wonderful Howard." She said, examining the concealed weapons closely. "Thank you."

"Hey, my pleasure." He said, bundling up the duffel bag up, before shooting Steve a sudden look. "Well, how about it, Cap?"

"Oh, sorry!" Steve said, awkwardly trying to get the wrapping off and ripping half of the paper in the process. He looked back up at Stark with an expression of surprise and touched pleasure.

"You old son of a gun." He grinned. Stark shrugged, hands in his pockets, smile splitting his face.

Bucky looked over his shoulder and chuckled. "Guess someone heard you broke your last pencil two weeks ago. You should have seen him Stark, standing there trying to make two inches of stub work on those doodles of his."

Steve kicked a clump of snow in Buck's direction (accidentally hitting Dugan in the shin) and turned back to his gifts. A leather bound notebook held blank pieces of good drawing paper, while the clump of small sticks in his hands turned out to be a dozen high quality drawing pencils, half of them in color.

"Better than that, I have this for you." Stark said, pulling a wad of cloth out of his pocket and tossing it over. "It's completely waterproof and fireproof, so you won't have any more ruined drawings from weather and other army-related-craziness. Don't expect it to stop bullets, but it should keep that all clean."

"Thank you, Stark." Steve said, sliding the book and pencils into the pouch and securing it closed.

"Now, somewhere back in the main tents the rest of the army is enjoying my Christmas gift of 200 baked hams, so let's get over there and have some." Stark said, spinning on his heel and marching back towards the main camp. The Howling Commandos, stomachs certainly setting up a howl of hunger, followed him eagerly.

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Bucky pushed through the tent flap, took two steps, and promptly collapsed on his cot with a long groan.

Steve looked up and laughed. "Let me guess, you won the bet."

"By the narrowest margin heard of in the last 2 decades. Oh, golly." Bucky groaned at the ceiling. "Don't let me eat for again for weeks. I can't move."

Steve leaned forward. "So, what exactly were the parameters?"

. "Eat a slice of ham, race from the mess hall to the farthest point of the camp and back, down a shot of bourbon, eat ham, run, drink, repeat, repeat, repeat, and see who lasted longest."

"And the stakes?" Steve asked, his chin quirking up.

"Winner buys the drinks next time we're in London. If I had lost, Dugan would have drunk me out of a year's wages."

Steve whistled. "Good thing you won."

"Yeah, thanks be. One more time and I would have thrown the ham in his face. I'm never eating ham again. Ugh..."

Steve grinned and leaned back, staring at the ceiling of the tent. Bucky craned his neck to look at him and dropped his head down with a thunk.

"So, you haven't uttered much more than two words together since before dinner. What is it that's got Captain America so quiet?"

Steve smiled in the semi-dark. "Well, it's Christmas."

"Obviously. And?"

Steve shrugged the blanket up further around his shoulders and turned over. "I don't know…just trying to figure something out."

The groan that Bucky uttered was so long and so frustrated that Steve inwardly winced. "Oh, I knew bunking with you was the worst choice of my entire military career. What is it? And don't try getting around it, 'cause I can still tell when you lie. So, spit it out."

Steve was almost under the blanket at this point. "I was just…well…Buck, maybe you can answer this question: What do girls like for Christmas? Books? Jewelry? Clothes?"

There was a sudden clatter, a crash, a crazy jerking of flailing limbs in the dark and a blue stream of bellowed profanity in several different languages –including English- that made Steve scramble for the lamp as fast as super-soldier reflexes could take him. The sight that met his worried eyes was Bucky sitting on the ground, his cot tipped over behind him, his blanket and equipment scattered across his legs, and his furious eyes glaring up at Steve through the messiest head of hair one could imagine.

"Steven. Grant. Rogers. Do not, under any circumstances, for the rest of your life, ever entertain the very _thought_ of shopping for women's clothes, do you understand me?"

"Buck, what the devil do you mean?"

"Oh, someone in heaven is having an incredible laugh at my expense. How'd I get stuck with this job? Your mother should have explained this. Steve. You are a man. Men should never presume to know what style of clothes a woman likes, what colors supposedly "match", what they feel would be appropriate, or what they think fits them best. You do realize that you could put a woman in front of one hundred outfits, and out of those one hundred perfectly respectable articles of clothing, she might find only one that she actually likes? And your chance of blindly guessing what that one out of a hundred is exactly that: one in a hundred."

Steve scrunched his face and groaned. "Girls are so confusing."

"Yes, they are." Bucky set to work putting his things back into order. "Especially since messing it up means that they will probably do one or all of three things: shout at you, cry, or kill you."

"Then, what am I supposed to do?" Steve asked helplessly. Bucky pointed a wadded up pair of dirty socks at him.

"You give her something you know _she_ would like, not what you thinks she likes or what other girls like. What _she herself_ as a person likes! And in order to know that, you have to think about what you know about her. If you don't know what you're doing, you're gonna sink yourself in deep, boiling water. With snakes. Venomous ones."

Steve nodded to himself. "That makes sense. I can do that."

"I know you can, once you actually think about it. You might not even die." Bucky said, flinging his blankets back on the bed distractedly and plopping after them.

"Could you help me?" Steve asked hopefully. Bucky dropped his head into the makeshift pillow and groaned.

"And there is the certification of that fact that I _will_ die." His voice was muffled "Of course I will."

"Thanks' Buck." Steve called.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Shut off the light!" he rumbled, rolling over and hauling his blankets over his head while grumbling something about "fool idiots who know nothing about girls dragging innocent friends into death traps". Steve chuckled and reached for the light. Darkness enveloped the small tent.

"Bucky, she's English. Do you think she'd like tea?"

"Go to _SLEEP,_ Steve!"

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Translation: "what the devil did you get me that Dugan is pawing over?

 **ahhhh...poor Steve. so clueless about girls. at least Bucky's there to keep him from getting into too many scrapes, as per usual.**

 **internet here is...interesting, so i might not get the second section up for a few days. however, when it does come up, expect more H.C.'s on the scene taking a personal interest in Steve's quest.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **Author's note; I apologize for the delay! I only got two days into the second semester before i got a chest cold that became bronchitis that became walking pneumonia and stuck me in bed for a week. since then i have been trying to catch up on everything i missed.**

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Steve didn't know why he had expected to keep his personal mission a secret from the Howling Commandos. It was Dugan who broached the question as they all trudged up the steep French mountainside.

"Maybe a new watch? That one she's wearing looks a little old." He offered. Steve shot him a confused look out of the corner of his eye.

"For Peggy's present. You needed ideas."

Steve turned around and glared hard at Bucky, who threw his hands up in the air in fake surrender. "Hey, don't kill me. I don't know how he knows about this."

"It would not be a good idea to offer a watch though." Falsworth commented, trudging up behind them. "She won't wear it. The one she is using now belonged to her grandmother."

"Is everyone in the Allied Army aware of my personal business?" Steve growled at no one in particular.

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"You could learn a song and sing it for her." Dierneir offered through Gabe's translation at dinner that evening. "Every lady likes to be serenaded to."

Bucky choked on his coffee. "Sorry, have you ever heard this man attempt to sing? Dying ducks are more melodious."

"Hey, ow!" steve murmured. "I wasn't that bad in choir."

"That's what you think." Bucky muttered into his mug.

Steve broke a large hunk of snow over the back of his friend's head.

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Three days later, Morita shoved a parcel into Steve's hands, nearly upsetting the maps and compass Steve was already carrying. There resulted a strange version of a juggling routine as Steve awkwardly tried to avoid dropping anything in his surprise. Bucky had to lurch forward and save the map of Northern Germany from flying off the road down a steep slope and then Dugan had to catch Bucky and keep him from flying off too.

"What is this?" Steve demanded, when the danger was over and he could return his attention to the parcel in his hand.

Morita grinned. "It's a copy of Dante. She told me once that she enjoyed him. I bought it in that little bookstore in the village we passed through."

"Is it in English? That village was Italian." Dugan objected. Morita hit him with a map.

"Of course it is! Did you think I was an imbecile?"

"I would'nt put it past Peggy to teach herself Italian in order to read it if she wanted to," Bucky pointed out, before stopping himself with a strange look. "That is, of course, provided she doesn't know Italian already."

"Italian? Yes, I know it. perché Chiedi?" Peggy asked, coming up behind him. Dugan promptly slid the parcel out of Steve's arms, threw it on a nearby ambulance seat and sat on it.

"We wanted to make sure we had a translator, just in case." Gabe stuttered.

Peggy arched an eyebrow, but made no further comment.

It only took two days for the parcel to disappear when Dugan's duffel accidentally ended up on a truckload of supplies sent two hundred miles north. By the time he got it back, the whole bag was so waterlogged that there was nothing for it but to give the ruined book a secret and solemn cremation.

"A week to Christmas, and back to square one," Steve grumbled that night in his blankets.

"We'll get it worked out." Bucky groaned, half asleep. "Too bad we did''nt think to wrap it in that fancy cloth Howard gave you."

Steve muttered a distracted assent, and then suddenly sat up. "What did you say?"

"Hmm?" Bucky muttered, already drifting from half-asleep to mostly-asleep.

Steve leaned over and shook him, "Bucky, wake up. What did you say?"

"Huh, what?" Bucky blinked up at him, his hair a ridiculous bedhead mess. " I don't know, something about wrapping the book in that weatherproof cloth you got from Howard. Why?"

"You are a genius!" Steve said delightedly, punching Bucky's shoulder and turning to scrabble in his own duffel.

"Ouch! I know, but why do you have to hit me to tell me that?" Bucky groaned. Steve ignored him as he shoved his head and shoulders into the duffel. Bucky sat up and blinked in confusion.

"What are you looking for?" he demanded.

"I've got an idea." Steve said, emerging into the open again, clutching the pencils and notebook Howard had given him.

"That idea being…?" Bucky asked, beginning to wonder if Steve had hit his head too hard earlier that day.

"Something she herself would want." Steve said, scooting himself closer to the fire and opening the notebook.

Bucky lay back down, listened to the pencils scratching for about five minutes, then groaned and sat up.

"I knew bunking with you was the worst choice of my military career." He grumbled.

Steve shot him a distracted glance. "You don't have to sit up with me."

"Oh, don't i?" Bucky asked. "I give you 10 minutes before you satart pestering me for advice and opinions on whatever you're doing. Until then, I'm making myself more coffee." He reached for the kettle. Steve chuckled and bent back over the notebook.

True to Bucky's prediction, Steve was soon so confused about the proper way to angle Dugan's bowler hat that he would have spilled his own cup of Army coffee if Bucky hadn't moved it out of the path of his elbow.

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 **so there you go. a little Howling Commando fluff. i'll work on the next section while i'm on the bus down to the March for Life. i also completely finished the nice long fic i mentioned before: i will start uploading the first chapters tomorrow if i can. if not, next week.**

 **see you soon! send me comments/reviews for my little baby muses, pretty please. :)**


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